Songs of New Beginnings
by HollyinSanest
Summary: "There are forces, Elizabeth, both strong and powerful enough to change your direction. It depends on which you would listen to", he said cheerfully. "Though, I recommend that you pay hard attention to your future decisions, Miss DeWitt, I am sure you of all people would make the right decisions in your ventures". Post Bioshock Infinite.
1. Prologue: A Girl Named Elizabeth

**Author's Note: None of the character's here are mine and I do not profit any sort of financial means from it besides a bit of boost of my ego from the favs and positive reviews. **

**Hello there, this is my first in writing anything to do with the Bioshock (both the previous versions and the Infinite) theme and I hope I get certain things as close I can to the games I had played. And uh, positive reviews and favs are encouraged. Enjoy.**

**Songs of New Beginnings**

**Prologue: A Girl Named Elizabeth**

She bit her lower lip. Elizabeth Comstock. Anna DeWitt. She could never tell which she had always been. The lonely girl who had been too naïve to see that the world around her was changing and when it did, had changed her beyond return. Or the girl whose father had sold her off a long time ago and decided that drowning the man she had just met would have solved everything. Revenge had no better taste. But now, it was all she tasted was bitter regret. She had stopped Comstock, had prevented Booker from taking his baptism like the other multitudes of him that had done so, she had helped the Luteces. She had already discovered her origins.

And now, she drifted without any purpose.

Glancing outside, she could have sworn that all her enthusiasm of getting to Paris had waned. Now that she was already here, she discovered that she didn't really like Paris after all. The people were welcoming but their good intentions were just too much. It didn't matter now.

_She hadn't always mattered to him anyway._

The bathroom looked small. The four walls seem to close in.

This wasn't one of the grandest of places but she would just have to settle for what she could afford which meant the money she had pilfered from the streets during her journey. She glanced at the mirror, after she had pieced her relation with Booker; she started to notice the similarities of her features with his. But not her eyes, though. They might've been her mother's, and she wasn't referring to Lady Comstock either.

Booker.

Whatever she had done to him, she knew that he would still have forgiven her. The look on his face before she held him under was the look of the man who was resigned and beaten by the realisation of his past.

It was all over now.

Everything would come to an end.

The edge of the small blade pricked her finger even without the slightest pressure. This would be easy. Effortless. Just a slash and she would just have to wait for everything to end. Then, she would earn the peace she deserved. That peace she had longed for since she had arrived in Paris.

"I would truly reconsider my actions if I were you", she jumped at the remark voiced out by a man standing behind her.

"You", she whipped around, glaring at Robert Lutece who was leaning against the frame of the bathroom door. He was the man who had been working for Comstock until that turncoat of bastard decided that killing the Lutece siblings was a fine idea. As a sort of sick revenge, the Luteces decided to drag Booker into a picture. Now, she was angry at them for doing so although a part of her pointed out that if it hadn't been for the strange siblings, she would still be under Comstock's influence.

"Miss DeWitt", Robert gave her half a bow.

She shook her head, dropping her blade into the sink. "It's just Elizabeth now".

"Denial is a strong word, Elizabeth. You cannot deny your origins as much as I cannot deny being the man who would be finding your body if you did decide on ending yourself in such a manner", he pointed out.

"Tell me again, why are you here?" she asked, plainly annoyed by his presence.

"Do you seriously think that this is over just because you decided to snip DeWitt from the picture?" Robert let a smile tinge the edge of his lips.

Realization hit Elizabeth with such a force that it left her breathless.

"Comstock's still alive?" she gasped.

"In a way", Robert shrugged. "The proper word would be: his progeny is still alive".

"What?" she could hardly blink at his answer.

"There are forces, Elizabeth, both strong and powerful enough to change your direction. It depends on which you would listen to", he said cheerfully. "Though, I recommend that you pay hard attention to your future decisions, Miss DeWitt, I am sure you of all people would make the right decisions in your ventures".

"And what is my purpose in this?" she folded her arms.

"Simple", he kissed the top of her head, whispering, "Atonement".

When she looked up, Robert Lutece was nowhere to be seen.

**Author's Note: So what do you think?**


	2. Chapter 1: To Learn to Fly

**Author's Note: I do not own any if these characters, but I do have a copy of the BioShock Infinite game and have played it well over three times just to understand its plot. Plus, Booker was just soo cute when he nearly gets drowned by the priest when he reaches Columbia for the first time. Alright, now, back to business.**

**Songs of New Beginnings**

**To Learn to Fly**

**LONDON, 1924**

Robert Lutece promptly sat across his sister in the front of the coffeehouse. Rosalind barely regarded his presence having been too absorbed with the workings on the papers before her. Making a face, he reached over to snag her cup of coffee from its ignored state.

"You didn't have to do _that_", she said, not looking up from the papers.

He knew what she meant. After all, they were similar in very intriguing ways.

"She deserved closure. I cannot leave her in such a devastating state", he frowned.

Rosalind waved a hand to shush him from providing any more excuses that he would have flooded her with. She already knew some of them from their partially shared intellect. She would have made some of them if she had truly cared for the girl. Needless to say, work always comes first.

With Comstock not existing, Columbia was gone to the world, based on her perspective anyway. She couldn't care less whether there was a floating city or not. Infinite world would mean a chance to start afresh. An exciting new project, she would have declared of she was up for it.

Unfortunately, she was being held back.

By Robert.

That man had suddenly spawned a conscience that could rival a walrus's. She didn't know how or why but she did suspect something.

"We need to part ways", he began, his voice sure. "If you would just rather sit about dallying on something that would be another mistake, so help me, Rosalind".

Would.

She sighed.

If he had already known, she herself had been denying the outcome of her little project. Crumpling the sheets of paper, she regarded him with a questioning glance.

"Satisfaction does not come this easily", he remarked.

"Hmph, now that you've rained on my parade, what is it you want? I have agreed to help you with DeWitt just because your idle threats of leaving me were just plain pathetic. So, I have provided my part. What is it you want now?" she kept her voice steady but he already knew that she was more than fuming.

"Just your blessing, sister, it would be enough to get me where I want to be", Robert said.

Reaching over, she placed her hand over his. "Don't do it, Robert, do not get yourself involved this way".

"I can't. After all, it is all I can think of", he shook his head, removed her hand and walked away. Rosalind felt a cold shiver travelling down her spine. There was something oddly familiar about the way Robert acted. It reminded her of something. Just like that, the sensation passed. She could only guess where he was going to.

_No doubt to her_, thought Rosalind.

**PARIS, 1919**

Elizabeth popped the tart into her mouth, savouring the sweet taste of fruit and custard. How long was it since she had tasted food like these? _Surely not in Columbia_. She could hardly remember any of the food she ate when she was in Songbird's care.

Two more days before what little she has runs out, two more days before she slips out from the hotel to the streets of Paris. She would have to go quietly in the night, when she wouldn't be noticed by the reception. Then, she would open a Tear and get along into another life. Maybe to the countryside. She always wanted to ride a horse.

"Excuse me, miss", one of the hotel's concierge approached her. Immediately, she froze, wondering if the management did find out about her financial situation. She had initially let them assume that she was a young rich girl who was just staying for a week just until her beau comes to fetch her for New York.

"Yes?" she said hesitantly.

"A letter has been left for you", the young man said in fluent French, handing her a folded piece of crème paper.

"Oh, thank you. Who sent this?" she asked, inspecting the short note.

"I haven't a clue, sorry", the man said in French before walking off.

With trembling hands, she unfolded the paper.

"Do not run, we need to talk tonight", she read the words under her breath. Under the message was an unfamiliar address. She chewed on her lower lip, considering whether if it was a good idea to trust the written words of this stranger.

"Hell with this", she muttered, getting up to leave the deli for her room. Looks like her trip to the countryside was going to be earlier than she had expected.

Opening the Tear she wanted was easy. She had enough of people telling her what to do even of it was Robert Lutece. _He did help Comstock before_, a part of her reasoned. _That is why I'm not going to do as he says_.

She bid a silent farewell to Paris and stepped into a meadow of green grass. The clear sky on the other side was beautiful. She hadn't seen sky like this since Columbia. It reminded her of home in away although no matter how hard she tries, she could never find the floating city any more. She guessed it all ended when she ended Booker.

"Where am I?" she murmured, peering around for any sort of signage that would explain where she was.

"Took your time", a voice said from behind her. Startled, she began to open up a Tear when she noticed that it was a dark haired woman who was smiling at her. The woman was quite out of place. Her long dark curls were a deep contrast with the fiery red jacket she wore over what looked to be a white cotton shirt and beige breaches along with tanned leather boots. She wore gloves, with a sheathed knife hanging from her belt.

"Um, sorry, I don't understand", she backed away slowly. "What is going on?"

"Easy, easy. It's alright", the woman must have noticed that she resembled a cornered cat. "Robert told me to get here, said that I was to meet a young girl who would scare the withers off me".

"Robert Lutece sent you", Elizabeth straightened herself, frowning at the older woman.

"Precisely, name's Betsy by the way", the woman extended a gloved hand to her. Elizabeth let it hang for a moment before taking it warily.

"Elizabeth", she muttered.

"Now that we're well acquainted, do you mind taking me to Robert?" Betsy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Where is he?" Elizabeth asked.

"Well, why don't you take me the first place that comes to your mind? You seem to have good instincts, girl", the woman urged her with an encouraging smile.

"Alright", she shrugged, opening the first tear she could think of.

**NEW YORK, DECEMBER 1893**

Booker DeWitt tucked away the crushed up dollar bills into his coat pocket. It would be enough to pay both the rent, leaving a small amount for his provisions. He knew that he had done right by taking the job even when this time round, the run had been a little too risky for his liking. Still, beggars can't be choosers, he had to repay the rest of his debts and this was the quickest way possible. Anna was asleep by the time he collected her from Mrs Clarke's, promised the woman that he would be paying her in full next time round and hastily left the Clarke's residence for home. Home was of course his old beat up office. Settling his daughter's head on his shoulder, he fished out the keys to his office. Getting the creaky door open was a trick he had mastered from the past few weeks, having to put the weight of his other shoulder to brace the door and shove against it silently.

"Mister DeWitt, I see you're in good health", a voice said from the inside of his dark office.

"What the hell?" Booker growled, flicking the switches to reveal a young man sitting on _his _chair.

"I presume that is a manner of greeting and not a possible sign of hostility", the man said, looking a little bored. "I'd advise you to settle your little one before she makes a fuss".

"Hey, pal, get out of here. I told you I'll pay up, just give me some time", Booker said, weighing in the possibilities of him murdering this man silently while Anna slept.

"Still indebted, I see. No, I'm not here for that purpose", the man said smugly. "Perhaps if you would spare some time for a little chat, I promise I won't cause any sort of trouble".

"Fine by me", Booker grunted, shutting the door before they start to freeze to death. "Who are you, by the way?"

The man got up and extended a hand.

"Robert Lutece".

**Author's Note: So, what do you think?**


	3. Chapter 2: Past Traces

**Author's Note: Characters in this story, ain't mine. Can we carry on now?**

**Songs of New Beginnings**

**2. Past Traces**

**LONDON, 1943**

Two figures stumbled across the rubble of a building. The air was full of ash and smoke from a recent fore, enough to set Elizabeth choking as she tried hard to keep up with Betsy. So far, this stranger had told her to open a Tear but unlike her experience with Booker and Tears, this was different. This Tear felt substantial in a way. She just couldn't describe it further. The drastic change in environment couldn't have shocked her; she was used to though she did dread that she was once again in the middle of a war. Praying hard that she doesn't catch sight of any Vox Populi posters, she gave her surroundings a once over.

"Where are we?" Elizabeth asked.

"London by the looks of it", Betsy replied.

"I don't remember a London like this", she murmured.

"Me, too", Betsy confessed, pointing at a Nazi flag hanging from the buildings that were still standing. "I don't remember the Germans taking over either. Did you do this?"

Before she could answer the question, the woman had pulled her aside.

"What's-", Betsy shushed her further questions. Not far away were voices talking in a language that Elizabeth has identified as German. Her eyes widened as they slipped into the shadows, waiting for the threat to pass. When the voices faded only did they relax once more.

"So what do we do now?" Elizabeth crossed her arms, huddling against a part of the wall from a once standing building, now with a slanted foundation. She realised that she hadn't thought to bring at least a coat along with her when she decided to embark on a journey away from Paris.

"We wait", Betsy replied. In a sterner voice, she glanced at her companion, "Wait here and stay low".

Elizabeth gave as much as an innocent nod as she watched Betsy disappear into the smoky darkness. If she was right, dawn wasn't far away. Sitting down, she tucked her knees under her chin and waited.

…

_The world was burning. People were screaming, some dying. She could taste the smoke in the air, each drawn breath an effort. She was sitting in front of a fire, in front of him. The man who had betrayed her a lifetime ago but had chosen a path that no ordinary selfish human would heave. Sacrifice. _

"_Booker", Elizabeth murmured. "…Father…what are you doing here?"_

_He just looks at her. There was no defiance in his eyes. No emotion. Just the reflection of the burning flames before him. He stokes the fire, mouth moving to shape words that she knew best._

"_The Seed of the Prophet shall sit the throne and drown the flames the mountains of men…" he said, sending chills that sprouted goosebumps on her arms. She felt angered. This wasn't her Booker, he wouldn't have said that to her._

"_I don't understand", she looked away, into the shadows so that she wouldn't have to look at his face. "We finished it, I killed Comstock. It's over"._

"_Never is, little dove", Booker was replaced by one of the Lutece. Rosalind. "Halting the power of such immense influence would require more effort. You have just allowed yourself to stumble about depending on blind luck and that would not do"._

"_What is the point?" she raised her voice, throwing a bout of tantrum. "Booker is gone now, so is Comstock. Now you tell me that what I had done was just for nothing?!"_

"_Because there is never an end", Robert Lutece answered, now in Rosalind's place. He stared at her, eyes with burning flames. "You would realise sooner, Miss DeWitt, that you were just the start"._

"_And you will follow in my steps", Comstock said, sitting where Robert was a moment ago._

"_No", she backed away. "No. No"._

"_He has groomed you well", Rosalind lamented, "Too well indeed, I'm afraid"._

"_You cannot deny who you are", Comstock said with approach._

"_Like serpents in the brush awaiting their prey", a version of her muttered, playing with the silver thimble on her finger._

"_You are mine, dear, as you have always been", Comstock stretched his arms in a welcoming gesture. The only put off was that snakes were slithering from his sleeves. She wanted to howl against the wind, wanted to run anywhere her Tears would take her. A part of her demanded for her to fix the mess before she was too far gone._

"_What can I do now?" Elizabeth asked._

"_WAKE UP, ELIZABETH! WAKE UP!" Booker shouted at her, his voice merging with the others, producing a horrid sound like nails on a chalkboard. _

…

She jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath. Instinctively, she drew herself away from the hand that was hovering over her, to only realise that it belonged to Betsy.

"Where am I?" she mumbled, noticing that she was on a metal framed bed with a thin slice of mattress laid between her and the bed.

"Safe", Betsy replied. "Bad dream? You were talking in your sleep".

"It's nothing. Ough, how long has it been?" Elizabeth shook her head. In a sort of reply, Betsy handed her a neat pile of folded clothes. The fashion was different than the ones she had been accustomed to. The skirt, for once, was much shorter, reaching to only before her knees, in a grey colour that seemed a little dull. There was a cream cotton blouse to accompany the skirt, along with knee high white socks and black shoes.

"Long enough", Betsy muttered. "How did you do this?"

"You asked for a Tear, I gave you one. Usually, I won't be this clueless on where we are. It's strange so far", Elizabeth got dressed, leaving the woman to her own thoughts. She had no idea which world she was in or even tell events that were occurring during this period. What worried her worst was the fact that she had completely put her trust in this stranger whom she had just met. If her encounter with Booker had thought her so, it was a very stupid act she was putting on. Once she was done, Betsy handed her a pack which could be slung over one shoulder.

"Alright, take us to a London that isn't this ravaged. I suppose Robert can figure where we would be", Betsy sighed as the whole room shook from a muffled explosion.

"Are you sure?" Elizabeth bit her lower lip. "I can't see where we're going; it'll be like shooting an arrow blindfolded".

"Just do it, girl", the raven haired woman smiled warily.

**LONDON, 1924**

Rosalind Lutece checked her pocket watch for the umpteenth time, standing on the front doorstep of the agreed meeting place. It wasn't usual for the young Elizabeth DeWitt to be late but from the change of company the young woman keeps, it wasn't a surprise. She was starting to feel like a fool, waiting for Robert's charges to arrive. Glancing around, she suspected that no one had approached her with any offers of assistance because the house that had lain abandoned along with a very horrid rumour that it was haunted.

What they didn't know was that there were many Tears in the house. These Tears did lead to somewhere else and most of these places were not form this world, she was sure of it though she could never deny how fun it was to observe some Tears from this side. One of her favourites was the Tear which leads to an opera theatre which had been playing Hamlet over the week. However Rosalind didn't dare venture into any of the Tears herself, in fear of being too far from her brother's reach, that and the fact that she had never trusted that woman Betsy. It was almost dark.

"Hmph", she brushed the front of her long skirts to hide her annoyance.

If Robert were to ask anymore favours of her, she would be declining the rest of them from now onward. Walking back into the house, she let the door close with a resounding slam.

**NEW YORK, 1889**

Betsy fell onto her knees. The travel through the Tear had seemed to draw the breath out from her chest. She envied Elizabeth who strolled into the new environment with no effect.

"Uh…New York", Elizabeth said in an amused voice.

"I told you to take us to London", Betsy argued, glaring at the incompetent young woman.

"I told you, I don't know where we were going. I think something's wrong with my abilities, I can't tell what time this is", Elizabeth walked ahead, apparently searching for something. Betsy followed with jaws tightly clenched.

"Excuse me, mister", Elizabeth beckoned at a man at a stand. "What is the date today?"

In a reply of sorts, the man handed her a roll of papers. She searched the first indication of the date and year. 19 July. 1889. Her heart skipped a beat. This was before the Luteces had acquired DeWitt's help in rescuing her from the tower. If she was correct, she would be able to find Booker. If only she had a way of finding his residences.

"What now?" Betsy caught up with her, "There's nothing in New York".

"For you maybe", Elizabeth muttered.

How do you find a man in a heavily populated city? She hadn't a clue where to start. As if on cue, a memory hit her. _The Pinkerton_. Booker had once mentioned that he had been one of those men who were hired by the agency in order to keep control of the workers who went on strike. When she had gotten a little curious, she had dwelled deeper on the matter and managed obtain a fragment of knowledge of what Booker had claimed to have done-it came to her in a dim memory as most answers she needed from other worlds do. All she needed to do was just ponder on the subject.

She chewed on her lower lips, trying to get a read on the world she was in now. Since she had regained a large proportion of her abilities she had no trouble in doing so. But since the time she left Paris, she had only been able to open Tears without knowing where they led to. She made a list of things that need to be sorted out. Asking Robert Lutece about the fritz inn her powers fell below asking the very same man about her new acquaintance Betsy. Finding Booker came first.

"Betsy, this is important. Where do I find the Pinkerton Agency?" she turned towards Betsy.

"Pinkertons", Betsy nodded. "I do know where the office is. Unless this is where it doesn't exist, I can show you there".

"Thank you", Elizabeth looked relieved.

The older woman grabbed her at the shoulder, stopping her from taking a step further.

"But I would only if you gave me some time to explain", Betsy frowned.

"Then you'd better", she replied hotly.

**Author's Note: I know…delays…but what do you think about this?**


	4. PROMO

**Author's Note: None of these are mine, the usual. So, I decided to put in this added bonus which actually has nothing to do with the current fic. Still, I do hope it's a good read and I had this plot going in my head and wanted to share it. **

**NO worries, I'm still carrying on with the Songs of New Beginnings, this is just a break in between the plotline for another story. Fell free to check it out- or treat it like an unwanted advert.**

****CHAPTER PROMO ****

**Eight Lives **

…

**Year 2014, New York City **

She stepped out of the elevator warily, knuckles going white from clutching her bag too tightly. This was where she was supposed to be, if she needed to prevent the disaster from ever happening. Even if she knew it would take more than showing what she was capable of to convince him in lending a hand. The office was a little under kept-walls that needed painting and a pile of old newspapers that were dated from last year. There doesn't seem to be any other tenants than the lone occupied office ahead of her. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't, yet options were already running out. Making sure that she looked presentable enough that she would give a good first impression, she knocked on the door.

No answer.

She knocked again, straining to hear any noises that might come from the inside that could possibly be a sign of the man she was looking for. Trying to peer through the tinted glass was no good either.

"Hello, I'm looking for DeWitt. Booker DeWitt?" she called out. "Anybody here?"

_No one_

Sighing, she deposited her bag on the floor with a heavy thump. Leaning against the wall beside the door, she prepared herself for a long wait just when the elevator door opened with a cheerful ding. A man who looked to be in his thirties walked stepped out. He didn't look odder than any normal person at the street but there was something about him that she can't quite put her finger on. But he was the one she was looking for. She needed him.

"Um, Mister DeWitt?" she asked, keeping her voice as calm as she could.

He looked up at her, surprise showing a little through his controlled expression. He reined it in immediately, subtly glancing behind to check to see if he had been followed. When he approached her, she could see the suspicion in his green eyes. In a manner of considering whether it was worthwhile in treating her that she wasn't worth talking to, he unlocked the door to his office and was going to leave her out there when he gave a moment's pause.

"You coming in or what?" he grunted, avoiding any eye contact. She knew he had a good heart. That was why he's running his business to the ground by being picky on the cases he took in.

She stood by the door, unsure of her next move.

"Close that door", he ordered, settling down on the chair behind the desk (being the only sole piece of furniture in the room besides the dingy wooden chair which he offered to her). She did as she was told and finally approached to sit opposite him. Reading him wasn't as easy, he wasn't exactly an open book.

"It's ten per hour for the initial, any progress and you'll have to add a fiver to the subsequent fee, per hour of course. Now why would you ever need a private investigator? Cheating boyfriend? Someone stalking you?" Booker asked, eyeing her warily.

"You're too quick to assume, Mister DeWitt", she told him. "I am here on a much more particular case. Are you familiar with the Lutece theory?"

"Enlighten me", Booker gestured with a wave of his hand.

"This is of utmost importance. But I can't give you any more specific details",she started. "I need your help to find a man named Robert Lutece".

"You mean the physicist who disappeared. Why the hell would I want to do that?" he scoffed.

She stood up, frowning at his attitude. "This isn't something to laugh about, Mister DeWitt. This all sort of dangerous. Someone I know has opened a door that can't be closed and if we don't do anything sooner, the world will end".

"You know I heard some talk about the world ending two years ago, it didn't happen. What makes it possible this time, kid? Look it's probably just some lie to keep people on their toes, it won't happen", he assured her with a forced smile. "Go home to your folks before they worry".

"No, I won't", she folded her arms rather crossly. "The world will come to an end soon and when that happens, no one else can do anything about it. I need your help. Look, if money's an issue, I can get some but it'll take some time. But I would be willing to triple your fee".

"Alright, miss", he stood up, "What do I call you?"

"Elizabeth".

…

**Author's Note: Remember, dear readers, infinite world, same characters. And keep hanging in there, more is to come. **


	5. Chapter 3: Unbroken Faith

**Author's Note: I don't own any of these characters. Thank you all for the comments, follows and continuous support. Oh, and the PROMO chapter before this has absolutely nothing to do with this storyline-that is another story to tell (for later).**

**3. Unbroken Faith**

The burning city. There wasn't much anyone could do now. Not even him.

It could have been the end of what they had fought for. No more Columbia. No more Comstock. Yet their failure un the meek attempts of a revolution led them to misjudge the radical steps the elders were willing to take. He was sure that Fink's men were still on the lookout for more Vox prisoners to take in. From now on, he was on the run. New York would be in flames, Elizabeth was still gone, and the world they'd once known was in deep havoc. There wasn't anything else that he could have done. Yet he felt that at least he could have avenged her, so her death wouldn't have been for nothing.

He clutched the pendant that he had gotten off her cold body.

The cage.

He had picked it for her when she could not decide which she should have chosen. Of course, it was only a game the Luteces played on them. But still, she had said that there was something special about the cage. He ran a thumb over the insignia of the cage. Elizabeth had been a prisoner for no other reason than for Comstock's use. When she couldn't fulfil it, Comstock had murdered her. The worst was that the bastard had chosen to do it right before him.

He couldn't suppress the shudder that ran along his spine. Her blood was on his hands. He knew it, and so were the blood of the people who had been fighting for their freedom. He had the chance at Comstock, instead of killing the bastard, he had only just watched as each piece of what he had lived for was stripped away.

Slate looked up from the destruction before them. The older man sighed, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Take as long as you need", Slate told him.

"Ain't no more places to run", Jacob remarked from beside them, the man was no longer wearing Vox Populi colors, not since Daisy had been taken into the custody by the state of Columbia and the revolution disbanded.

He knew that he owed it to the leader of the Vox and Daisy's idealisms. They were true. There was nothing more corrupt than a man playing god-a man who had murdered the girl and declared her a martyr. Now, they were at war with the world. Every word of hellfire and damnation couldn't convince him on giving his loyalties over to the Fink industries or Comstock.

"What do we do now?" Jacob asked, loading a shotgun.

"We get to the Hall of Heroes, we show 'em what kind of people they really are. Give 'em a piece of our mind", Slate sneered.

"No", he said; clear enough to stop his other two companions in their track of thoughts. "It'll just be an easy way to get ourselves killed. We won't be doing much to help Daisy then".

Slate scowled. "What do you have in mind, son?"

"We kill Comstock", he told them darkly.

"Not to be raining on your parade, DeWitt, but how the hell are we gonna do that?" Jacob eyed him warily. It was good that the lad had developed a sense of independence in their company. He couldn't live through another death.

"Pardon my saying", somebody spoke from behind them, earning the wrong end of two pistols and a shotgun. He was the first to lay his weapon away, having to have been expecting such a company. The man hadn't changed at all, only his attire was different. He noticed that this was the first time he had seen one of the Luteces wearing dark solemn colors. The black suit might have been a sign of respect for their losses.

"Quoting the wise words of the great Lennon, things may not be impossible with a little help from our friends".

**NEW YORK 1889***

"Robert felt strongly that what he had done wasn't enough, only God knows why that man had grown an extended conscience as compared to his sister. He enlisted my help to track you down and try to assist you as much as I could-and even if this sounds unconvincing, I'm supposed to keep an eye out on you", Betsy offered a wry smile. "He had warned me of an impending danger but yet the lack of specification makes it dubious, so here I am in you company".

Mixed emotions coursed through Elizabeth. She was still a little angry that Robert Lutece still had the nerve to be involved. She was unnerved by the fact that her dream might have a connection with the 'impending danger'. And also she had a sudden mistrust of her current acquaintance, Betsy. She didn't know which she should start worrying about.

"Here we are, saving the world again", Elizabeth sighed.

"Why are we looking for this man?" Betsy glanced around them.

"He's familiar with where we are. Besides, he's a private investigator. If we're going to find the cause of these events, he's the go-to", Elizabeth shrugged. "What is your story with the Luteces?"

"Oh, Robert and I go way back. As for his sister; not so. Rosalind doesn't feel that strongly of my company", Betsy explained. "She believes that I've been influencing Robert lately. Stop here. There, Pinkertons".

It was a large building with a board that declared the agency's name in bold letterings. As they walked in, Elizabeth recalled how ruthless those who were hired under this agency were, taking care of any sorts efficiently with a price. She braved herself as they started into the building. At the front desk, sat a neat little woman who was using the typewriter, she only acknowledged them when Betsy cleared her throat.

"Welcome to the Pinkerton Agency, please state your business?" the woman brimmed at them.

"We're looking for one of your agents. Booker DeWitt", Elizabeth told her.

"I'm sorry, the name isn't familiar, I'm afraid", the woman told them.

"How can this be?" she bit back a frustrated yell, glaring form the woman to Betsy.

"But if you have time to spare, perhaps the records department can help you with your problem?" but Elizabeth was already walking away. Despite the fact that Betsy was calling out for her to stop, she kept on walking; not looking back.

**LONDON 1924**

Rosalind clutched at her shoulder, hissing a little at the sudden pain. She was barely surprised once she removed her hand revealing a red stain spreading on her crème colored blouse. She hesitantly got up from her chair by the desk towards the mirror to inspect the appearing wound. It did hurt and the worst was when she peeled back the blood soaked material, she noticed that it was a bullet wound.

**NEW YORK 1889**

Robert fell heavily on his knees. He hadn't been careful, now he was paying the price. Blood was seeping through the makeshift bandage, soaking his coat on the left side. Where he had appeared wasn't anywhere public, he was too careful for such a thing to happen. Clasping at his shoulder, he gritted his teeth as he resisted the temptation of curling at the corner until his sister (or other self came) to the rescue. If she had been here, she would have clicked her tongue at him, told him how much of a mess he was, said that she had always been right among the two of them and would have worked on setting him straight. But she wasn't. He was alone in this.

"Betsy", he reminded himself. This was the reason he was here. She was near, and he could almost feel her presence. He urged his legs to move faster, walking out of the lavatory without looking as if he was injured. If his calculations were right, he was in the Pinkertons National Detective Agency. The offices were unfamiliar but once he had made it to the receptionist's desk, he noticed the familiar face.

**Author's Note: Well, I presume you all can guess who the protagonist of the first part of this chapter. **

***do notice that during the year 1889, Booker hasn't even become a Pinkerton agent yet. From my calculations, it's about 3 yrs from when he joins the Pinkertons. Having her powers on the fritz, Elizabeth had not known of such fact. **

**Heyas, another chapter completed. What do you think about the PROMO chapter from before?**


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